“Why don’t you just burn this Captain Davis?”

“A damn good reason. He says he has enough hard evidence on Carlo, me and half of his lieutenants to put us all away for life. If he shows up dead — for any reason — all his evidence is turned over to the cops within twenty-four hours. The Baltimore police, the D.A. and the mayor would mow us down.”

“Has he got the goods?”

“Probably. At least enough to bluff the rest. So we pay him off.”

“I’ll get around to him. Now pay up to Uncle Sam. Find out what’s making the criminal underworld so excited. Something big is happening or is about to happen in Baltimore. I want some information tomorrow. Ask Carlo. Tell him you heard about it on the grapevine and want the straight goods.”

“I might be able to — Carlo likes me. Anything else?”

“Give me the addresses of four more of Carlo’s gambling clubs.”

“You gonna hit them?”

“Wait and see.”

“Man, I’ll be busy tomorrow.”

Nino produced a small notebook from his jacket pocket and wrote down four sets of names and addresses. He tore the page from the book and gave it to the Executioner.

“Give me a phone number where I can reach you or leave messages. Two of them would be better. No matter what name I leave, I’m your cousin from San Francisco.”

The informer gave Bolan two numbers: his home and his office in a downtown catering firm that Carlo owned and Nino supposedly ran.

“I better return to the scene of the crime. The cops must be done by now. We got to be back in operation by 6:00 p.m. today.”

They did not say goodbye. Tattaglia turned back and Bolan simply walked on.

The Executioner continued another block to his rented car, and drove to one of the gambling clubs on the list. He put a full magazine in the handle of the Beretta 93-R and left the round in the chamber. From a soft zippered bag on the seat he took an army smoke bomb and slipped it into his pocket.